Cym.
Again; and bring me word, how 'tis with her.
A fever with the absence of her son;

A madness, of which her life's in danger:—Heavens,
How deeply you at once do touch me! Imogen,
The great part of my comfort, gone: my queen
Upon a desperate bed; and in a time
When fearful wars point at me; her son gone,
So needful for this present: It strikes me, past
The hope of comfort.—But for thee, fellow,
Who needs must know of her departure, and
Dost seem so ignorant, we'll enforce it from thee
By a sharp torture.

Pis.
Sir, my life is yours,
I humbly set it at your will: But, for my mistress,
I nothing know where she remains, why gone,
Nor when she purposes return. 'Beseech your highness,
Hold me your loyal servant.

1 Lord.
Good my liege,
The day that she was missing, he was here:
I dare be bound he's true, and shall perform
All parts of his subjection loyally. For Cloten,—
There wants no diligence in seeking him,
And will^{4 note}

Cym.
The time is troublesome:
We'll slip you for a season; but our jealousy [To Pisanio,
Does yet depend^{5 note}
.

1 Lord.
So please your majesty,
The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn,
Are landed on your coast; with a supply
Of Roman gentlemen, by the senate sent.

Cym.
Now for the counsel of my son, and queen!—
I am amaz'd with matter^{6 note}

.

1 Lord.
Good my liege,
Your preparation can affront no less
Than what you hear of^{7 note}

Cym.
I thank you: Let's withdraw:
And meet the time, as it seeks us. We fear not

What can from Italy annoy us; but
We grieve at chances here.—Away. [Exeunt.

Pis.
I heard no letter^{8 note}